She shrugged. ‘It is the only way I shall ever hurt him, and I really do loathe the man. When we first arrived in Lincoln, I wanted to live quietly, but he insisted on taking over the Commonalty and ruling the city. He ruined all our lives with his filthy ambition, and he has brought us to the brink of civil war. The feud between these two factions would have faded years ago, if he had not come along.’
The bishop and Lady Christiana emerged from the priory as Bartholomew and Michael finished talking to Sabina, and joined them as they walked to the cathedral. Unwilling to leave his friends in the company of Satan, Cynric followed at a distance. Michael was delighted to escort Christiana – she was going to light candles at the Head Shrine for her mother, as she always did on a Tuesday – although the pace she set left him with scant puff for talking, and he soon fell silent, concentrating on not appearing too winded in front of her. He was relieved when Spayne hurried from his house, indicating that he wanted to speak, because it gave him an opportunity to catch his breath.
‘Have you reconsidered your decision yet?’ he gasped. He watched Gynewell go to assist Canon Stretle, who had lost his footing on ice and lay sprawled on his back. ‘About Matilde?’
Spayne was startled. ‘I never intended to rethink it, Brother. I made up my mind, and it was final.’
‘It is not a very charitable stance,’ said the monk accusingly.
‘No,’ agreed Christiana, shooting the merchant a glance that was far from friendly. ‘These men want to trace Matilde because they are concerned about her. Michael is right: you should reconsider.’
‘You can berate me all you like, My Lady,’ said Spayne with the tone of the wounded martyr. ‘I will not go against my conscience.’
‘I suppose it does not really matter,’ said Michael. He smiled at Christiana. ‘Other people have offered to make us a list of the places she might be instead. We do not need you, Spayne.’
Christiana nodded, eyes flashing as she regarded the mayor defiantly. ‘Dame Eleanor and I will tell Michael and Matthew what they need to know. And I hope, with all my heart, that they find her.’
‘Fine,’ said Spayne in an icy voice. His face was hard, and Bartholomew wondered whether Michael had been right after all: there was an element of spite in his refusal to help. He was not the only one who detected the chink in Spayne’s moral armour. Christiana’s expression became flinty, and she looked the hapless mayor up and down like a hawk with a rabbit.
‘You lied to Matthew the other day,’ she said. Bartholomew wondered what she was talking about. ‘Cynric told me. When Chapman was stabbed, you uttered all manner of untruths.’
‘That is right,’ said Cynric, willing to join them as long as Gynewell was occupied with his floundering canon. ‘You spun tales that were pure fabrication.’
‘I assure you I did not,’ said Spayne indignantly. ‘I simply described what I saw.’
‘And what was that, pray?’ demanded Christiana. Michael regarded her in astonishment; he had not known she could be pugnacious.
‘That Chapman was attacked with a knife outside the Angel tavern,’ replied Spayne. ‘I happened to pass by shortly after, and although I did not see him wounded, I saw the fuss of the aftermath. I was returning home from conducting some business.’
‘What business?’ asked Cynric immediately.
‘Wool business,’ replied Spayne shortly. ‘Not that it is any of your affair.’
‘Unfortunately for you, Chapman was not hurt at the Angel,’ said Christiana. ‘We all know it is the Commonalty’s usual drinking place, and you would normally be right in assuming he was there. On this occasion, however, he went to the Swan, because the weather was too cold for the longer journey to the Angel. You made an assumption, and it showed you to be a liar.’
‘She is right about the tavern,’ said Bartholomew, when the merchant looked as though he did not believe her, ‘but I have been telling them it was a slip of the tongue … ’
‘Yes,’ said Spayne, relieved. ‘It was-’
‘No, it was not,’ said Christiana sharply. ‘You lied, because you did not want Matthew to know what you had really been doing – this “business” you are so keen to keep to yourself.’
‘It really has nothing to do with you, madam,’ said Spayne, shooting the scholars an uncomfortable glance. ‘And I was trying to assist Brother Michael with his enquiries.’
‘Spinning yarns does not help me,’ said Michael, standing with Christiana. ‘It confuses the issue, and makes it even more difficult to distil the truth.’
‘It was the truth,’ snapped Spayne. ‘However, I admit that I was not the eyewitness: it was Ursula. She was coming home from visiting a friend, but declined to tell you what she had seen. I did it in her stead, so you would have the information – albeit scant – she had to offer. I was trying to be useful.’
‘Why would Ursula want to hinder my investigation?’ demanded Michael.
